


Siren.

by TheDarkestMindWithin



Series: Whumptober 2019 [6]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Complete, Gen, One Shot, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-29 23:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20804993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkestMindWithin/pseuds/TheDarkestMindWithin
Summary: You can never outrun the Baba Yaga, no matter who you are.Complete.





	Siren.

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober Prompt: Betrayed.
> 
> Without Beta.

* * *

_I'm running but I know it's futile._

_I'm running but I know that's there's no outrunning him._

_I'm running but I know that the second I stop, the second I do he will be there, waiting for me._

_I'm running but I know running is futile._

Downtown isn't as pretty as everyone believes, especially when you can't trust your own shadow. I attract a few looks, eyes following my exhausted legs as I run as fast as I can down the narrow streets, barely avoiding the people who are too slow to move in time to keep from colliding with my body. My vision blurs every now and then, the threat of passing out.

I finally stop when I run into a dead end, the only way out is back again but I know I don't have that privilege, it's the long awaited end. I squeeze my fingers into my palms, dig into the skin until there's a draw of blood, I hear him behind me, it's like he's not been running as hard as I have. I turn and there he stands.

_Baba Yaga._

"It's over, Habel." His voice is low and the threat slithers along his tongue along his lips. His whole body moves with his inhale, the only sign that he's been running for as long as I have.

"I'm still a Siren, that right has not been stripped, Wick." I hiss, ripping a part of my already worn shirt away to wrap around the long cut running down the side of my arm, a bullet that had gotten lucky, it looks like a cavernous gap of flesh revealing muscle and bone, I suppose it doesn't matter now.

_"Siren."_ He spits it, teases and mixes it with humour. No respect, like there should be. I spit at his feet for the disrespect and finish binding my arm. He doesn't react, he knows he deserved it and more. Besides, what's the point of punishing someone you already plan to murder? You can't murder someone twice, not even the great and almighty _Baba Yaga_ has that power.

"Is this what you do now, John? Kill friends until they kill you?" It's a low blow but why should the doomed be polite in the face of their marker, I was a fool to deny him.

"My sister would turn in her grave." I add, because dying with grace is overrated and he does not deserve to escape my wrath. There's no sign that my words hurt his cold soul but his eyes are still alive and there's the sign that he has venom to spill into my bloodstream, he doesn't make a move because he knows I will.

Knows that there's not a hope in hell that I would die at his hand with grace and poise like all my sisters.

"Die a my hand or my blade?" He had his knife in one hand and nothing in the other, I still have mine, a cygnet on the handle, engraved gold, I raise my chin to spite him and he exhales a low breath, resignation. It's a dance.

Ballet of the highest standard. We dance around each other, slow and careful, I slice his throat, a flesh cut, a scratch compared to what is to come, he doesn't acknowledge it, the slow trickle of blood on his side. he has time. Twirling bodies, limbs as graceful as the finest ballerinas. We reach the climax, the slow painful fall of the swan. He's quick, more than I deserve from him.

My body falls, choking on my own breath. He slice my jugular, a fast steady stream of my blood runs down my body and pools around the ground, I fall into his arms and he lowers me, holds me. I'm cold and I only have minutes left, I stare into his glittering eyes and reach my hand for his bearded cheek.

"My sister loved you, John," I whisper, I gurgle on the warm metallic that fills my mouth and he nods and tears fall from the devil's eyes, they're as white and as pure as snow, they burn my skin.

"The Baba Yaga does not cry," I whisper, I feel heavy and everything blurs, exhaustion washes over me like waves against a cliff side, John is warm and holds me.

"John Wick does," I smile, blood bleeds along my lips and down my cheeks, tears mix with the liquid.

"John, I remember playing in the poppy fields with John - "

She's gone, cold and limp and almost empty of blood, laying in my arms, I touch my fingers to her open eyes, I close her lids, kiss her cold forehead and lay her to the wet gravel ground.

"Say hello to that boy, if he still exists," I whisper low, leaving her. Leaving the last of my past behind.


End file.
